Children of War: The Master's Left Hand
Children of War: The Master's Left Hand Old Friends One of the few things Anthony liked about going back to school was the breaks. There were gaps in the schedule where the teams had no classes or lunch breaks. As long as they weren't disruptive, they could wander the campus and do as they pleased. Anthony himself usually took this time to sit outside and ponder - especially when the weather was nice. Today he had found himself a spot beside the fountain, sitting on the ground with hands folded on top of an upraised knee. One would've wondered whether or not he was sleeping had he gotten the chance to stay there long enough. But unfortunately for him, that wasn't to be. Courtesy of a call of Ozpin, he was now approaching entrance of the massive clock tower. Out of a strange sense of familiarity, he was somewhat nervous. His hands moved to smooth out his brown hair, even though it was already combed and tied back in a loose ponytail. He took a look at himself to make sure he wasn't wearing anything indecent. A dark brown short-sleeve shirt with a red bandana around the neck. Dark green pants. Brown and black hiking shoes. Black fingerless gloves. His heavy-caliber assault rifle strapped to his back and a vest to secure a few munitions on his person. He knew that he'd get called out for potential paranoia, but as far as he was concerned, it was better safe than sorry. Although he maintained a semblance of composure on the outside, it did nothing to hide his unease. He had been a good student as far as Beacon was concerned. So why had the headmaster suddenly called him out of nowhere? He could only wonder what was on Ozpin's mind as of this minute. Taking in a deep breath, he decided to take his mind off of the meeting for the time being. He reached into one of his satchels, pulling out a phone-sized Scroll. His thumb worked the screen and, after fiddling with it for a few seconds, secured him a connection to a familiar number. He lifted the Scroll to his ear and waited until a female automatic voice spoke to him in a foreign language. He responded back, speaking the same language fluently. After a response, there was only the sound of a ringing tone, and then... "Identify yourself!" A voice, familiar but harsh, came to Anthony's ears. He responded readily, keeping composure. "Jerry. It's Anthony." A moment of silence. Even as he walked, Anthony suddenly felt stiff waiting for the other man's response. BUt thankfully, he didn't have to wait long for the irritated yet relieved sigh coming from the other end of the line. "Dust, man. You scared the hell out of me." The proclaimed Jerry said. "The next time you decide to switch phones, maybe warn me first?" Anthony smirked. "Sorry about that." He said half-heartedly. "Got a bit too used to this one, I guess." "You still have your old one, right?" Jerry asked seriously. "Always. Like hell I'm risking anyone else's hands on it." Jerry sighed in relief. "Good, good." The next words he spoke held a semblance of amiability, earlier firmness gone. "So what's up? You usually don't call unless you've got something really good to say." Not wanting to waste the man's time, Anthony got straight to the point. His eyes narrowed, his smirk fading. "I've got two familiar faces here. Specifically, two familiar faces you might not be particular fans of." "Oh, yeah? Who are they?" "One is the daughter of our latest client." Anthony spoke the last three words with biting sarcasm. "Her name's Weiss Schnee, heiress of the Schnee Dust Company." "Seriously?" He could practically see the shock on Jerry's face, almost smirking again. "Anthony, if you're trying to bullshit me--''" "No joke, Jericho." Anthony firmly cut him off. "She's here and she's a student." "''But what the hell is one of their pencil-pushers doing there, at Vale, nonetheless?" Anthony let out a harsh sigh, running a free hand over his head. The sun that beamed down on him suddenly felt hotter. "Hell if I know. I'd ask, but I'm trying to keep my distance, an eye on her and her eyes off me. She might be all wrapped up in her own personal team, of course. But I'm not gonna take any chances. Her dearest daddy might've told her about me. For all I know, she could just be pretending, too." Jericho sighed. "Well, it'd be real great if you figured that out and got back to me as soon as possible, okay? What about the second face?" Anthony's gaze turned dark, his lips briefly pursing together. "Blake Belladonna." He answered, his tone layered with ice. "It's the name of that White Fang chick we saw on the train. The one with the Bull Faunus." "The one that cut your arm off..." Jericho muttered. Although that was clearly far from the intention, the words sent a twinge through the socket holding Anthony's cybernetic arm. He scowled, briefly glaring at his shoulder. "Don't remind me." "Right, right..." Jericho said, lightly apologetic. "You think she might be trying to spy? Maybe the White Fang decided to plant an agent into a seed before it became a full-grown tree?" "Once again, hell if I know. If she's acting, she's a real good actor." "Have you spoken with her?" "Only on occasion." Anthony snorted, suddenly coming to a thought Jericho happened to have. "Don't worry. I've kept my cool. I haven't made any threats against her or tried to collect that debt... at least," A small, dark smirk crossed his face. "Not yet, anyway." Despite the words, Jericho chuckled. "Well, shit." He remarked, amused. "I'm actually impressed. I figured you wouldn't have thought twice before trying to put her lights out. I can still remember those moments after we recovered from the crash, what with you swearing up a storm about how you were gonna "skin hat piss-eyed bitch alive". You sure can be pretty hilarious when you're angry." Anthony rolled his eyes before stopping in front of the lone elevator within the building, pushing the button to open the door. "Yeah, well, I've got an image to keep." He retorted, stepping on and pushing the button for the top floor. "Besides, it's not like I've forgotten how to act when it comes to tycoons and the like. If I did, I'd probably be screwed right now." "Why's that?" "I'm about to meet with the headmaster himself. Can't be because I'm in trouble, because I've been nothing but the model student." He ignored the snort, though he grinned a little. "So here's hoping it's nothing too bad." "I'd better let you get to it, then. Bye for now, and remember to keep a stiff upper lip." "I'll keep that in mind. Take care, brother." "You too." The connection was cut. Anthony sighed, putting his phone Scroll away and folding his arms. His eyes focused on the doors, waiting for the moment they would open again. The sounds of the car machinery was all that broke what would've been a tense silence. "Yeah..." He muttered under his breath. "A stiff upper lip..." Professor Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon, was far busier than anyone realizes. While attending to matters involving students' progression, their grades and the stars that shined among them by way of discussion with his colleagues, he also had his own take on politics. The four kingdoms of Vale were guarded by various Academies that producing outstanding and exceptional Huntsmen or Huntresses. In his youth he had been one of them and now heralded over one of -if not the most- outstanding schools for such a dangerous occupation. But on the other side was a whole other matter. In the shadows he communicated with people he normally wouldn't see more than a day within several months if not half a year. At times the only way of talking to them was through encrypted messages or by way of Scoll-Cam. It isn't something normally a person in his position was to do, but given recent events that have transpired, he feared a sinister force was already undergoing a major shift in their leadership. Already within that logic the law enforcement isn't trained to deal with such enemies and ordinarily Huntsmen and Huntresses within his contact are too busy combating the Grimm threat. That's where his idea came into play, one that was cemented the moment the elevator door opened and revealed an expected guest. Looking up from his personal Scroll he smiled, setting down his mug of coffee long enough to stand up from his seat. Reaching for his cane he maneuvered himself around his office space to cross the walkway he presumed that the young man would tread and meet him halfway with a friendly, firm handshake. "Good for you to drop by, Anthony," He spoke to him informally, having met this young man awhile ago before he was persuaded into becoming a student here. Looking at him approvingly, he simply rested one hand on his cane while the other just waved at him with a grin on his face. "I trust everything is going well in Beacon for you? No problems or any unnecessary squabbles with your rambunctious classmates?"